I don't know what to write about. I just feel like talking to someone, but there's no one around. I guess talking to my computer works too. I guess I'll give those of you who don't read my journal an update on my life in the past two months. So, after two suicide attempts, two ER trips and two mental institution stays, hypothyroidism diagnoses and Hashimotos diagnoses... I'm on the right medication and my mind is doing quite well.Well, so they think. I can think a little more clear, and I take things more seriously and personally. But my mood and mindset really haven't changed much. I mean, for a little while I felt a lot better after getting out of the mental hospital; it was a horrible place. But after being home for a few weeks, I almost feel no different than before. In fact, I'm a bit worse. I know no one really reads this blog so I can basically post whatever I'm thinking, so don't take me as an attention seeker, if you'd please. But I'm worse in a few ways, actually. Cutting has gotten deeper, voices have been getting louder, and depression is darker. Everyone blames my depression on my thyroid, but I feel like something else is going on. Eating disorders and psychosis aren't hypothyroid symptoms. Oh, hey. Let's talk about eating disorders for a little bit. I've already talked about the voices before. So, I had a major episode on Sunday because I was feeling guilty for not telling my parents about my eating disorder. I trashed my room. Tore lights down, knocked over a radio, kicked a table, threw my art kit, and smashed a mirror. I hate the feeling of guilt. It makes me extremely upset. Anyway, I ended up confessing to my parents about the eating disorder I've been battling for the past three months. I had told no one until I exploded and was drove to telling my Dad. So, pretty much, I would starve myself for a few days, then binge, then starve myself. I'd go from periods of eating three full meals to not eating for four days. I threw up once because of the lack of food and water. And only recently, about a week ago, I started force-vomiting after I ate meals. I only ate for the taste and to convince people that I had eaten. But right after I finished, I went to the bathroom and removed anything left in my stomach. I'm self-diagnosed with bulimia. I haven't told my therapist yet, but plan to eventually. She doesn't help me. I hate my therapists. I only go to please my parents and comfort them. I still lie to my therapist, though. The last session, I faked happiness and told her I was completely fine. I'm dying inside.
My parents are probably both reading this right now and speaking about it together. I don't care. They already went through all my journals, text messages, and Facebook messages. But somehow I was able to hide my eating habits from them. I guess since I was careful enough not to write about it anywhere. Now, I don't even care anymore. It may not seem like it with the amount of selfies I take, but I'm self-conscious as shit with my body. I didn't want anyone to know that; not even my best friend. I didn't want help. No one understands. You all say to just work out, but it never works.
"You're not fat." - I'm just saying this to seem like a real friend but you're actually pretty fat.
"You're normal weight for your age." You're above average.
"You're beautiful." I'm just trying to make you feel better about yourself.
"Just eat." I have no clue what it's like to suffer from an eating disorder.
You people don't have a single clue what it's like. Tell me you've felt like slitting your own throat, never eating again, and tell me you talk to yourself in the mirror because you've got no one else to talk to. Tell me that, and I'll trust that you understand. Otherwise, back off.
Okay so this blog probably makes no sense to anyone and may seem completely pointless. But this is what anti-social mortals like myself do. We write.
Okay, goodbye.
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